Bandaged and Unbandaged Wounds
by Ell Roche
Summary: Hesper Potter was fifteen when she fell hopelessly in love with George Weasley.


Title: Bandaged and Unbandaged Wounds

Pairings: George Weasley/Girl!Harry Potter

Warning: major angst, violence, dark themes, canon torture, canon character deaths.

* * *

"Give it here, then. Let me see."

Hesper Potter slid her bleeding hand behind her back. "It's nothing." Her hand still throbbed and ached from where the Blood Quill had torn it open, but she didn't want Fred (George?) to see it. The Dursleys had taught her to take care of her own injuries, and to not burden others with 'small problems'.

"Right." One of the Weasley twins—she still wasn't sure which—snorted disparagingly. "And that's why your blood's dripping on the floor behind you."

Paling, Hesper glanced backward to see that she was, indeed, spilling blood on the floor. Hesper flicked her wand at it, muttering, "_Evanesco_," and then held her hand tightly against her side. The robes she was wearing were thick and would surely absorb any more blood.

"Hesper." Her name was drawn out, reminiscent of Hermione when she realized Hesper was only just starting an essay an hour before it was due. "Let me help. Give it here."

Hesper bit her lip as a sharp spasm of pain raced up her arm. It hurt—a lot. "I don't want to be a bother," she mumbled. The Weasleys were nice to her, and she didn't want to abuse their kindness; they had already done so much for her.

Fred or George sighed and whipped out his wand. "Are you really going to make me Immobilize you, Hesper? I just want to heal your hand!"

Gulping, Hesper pulled her hand away from her side and extended it, trying to ignore the shaking fingers. It really did hurt.

"Finally!" A larger, freckled hand grasped hers, and then a pale wand caressed the skin. "_Episkey_!" A quieter incantation, one Hesper didn't catch, followed that one. And then the pain in her hand was just gone. A cleaning charm later and her hand looked just as it had earlier in the day.

"U-um . . . thanks," Hesper whispered.

"No problem, Hesper." A wide grin tugged freckled cheeks into a dizzying pattern. "I expect you'll not give me as much trouble next time." The smile was still present, but the warm eyes had narrowed on her.

"Next time?" she asked. Because while she was grateful, it would be rude to assume Fred or George would want to heal her after every detention. She had a lot of them lined up thanks to the Ministry's toad, Umbridge.

"I can't stop her from hurting you," he spat, "but I can keep your hand from being permanently scarred."

"Oh!" Hesper stared at the larger hand wrapped around hers and smiled. She couldn't remember the last time that someone had wanted to take care of her and make sure she was okay. It was nice, different, and kind of scary.

"So you'll behave next time?" The question was more relaxed, almost cheeky.

Hesper rolled her eyes. "Yeah. No fighting next time," she promised.

"Good, that's what I like to—"

"Oi! George, what're you doing?" Fred asked as he came around the corner, eyes shining with curiosity.

George dropped her hand and then ruffled Hesper's hair. "Just talking to Hesperling," he said.

Fred glanced between them. "Everything all right?"

"Brilliant," Hesper said, hoping she wouldn't have to burden Fred as well as George. She knew they weren't loose-lipped about important stuff, but she still wanted as few people to know as possible. Malfoy would definitely be thrilled to hear Umbridge was torturing the precious girl-who-lived.

"Well then"—Fred wrapped an arm around George's shoulders and tugged—"we'll just be going. Teachers to annoy, firsties to torment, you know how it is, mate."

Hesper nodded and watched Fred lead George away. Her hand was still warm from where George's had been wrapped around it. She ran her left hand over the tingling warmth, wishing she could rub it in. But, like everything else in her life, it vanished.

* * *

When Hesper stumbled away from Umbridge's office the next day, her hand hurt like hell. Her fingers jerked beyond her control, like the time Dudley had slammed the car door on her hand. She curled her arm against her chest, hoping to stabilize it, but it didn't do any good.

"Merlin's beard!"

"Now, now, Hesper, if you're going to swear, make it more interesting than that," George chided as he stepped forward and out of the shadows.

Flushing, Hesper ducked her head. Her Aunt Petunia didn't abide swearing, and she imagined that Molly Weasley was the same. Mrs. Weasley loved her children, but Hesper didn't doubt that she would box their ears if they cursed in front of her. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't apologize, Hesper." George huffed. "Just be more imaginative in the future, yeah?"

Hesper chuckled weakly. Of course George would give her advice on how to curse properly. She shook her head and smiled fondly. It was weird, but she liked it. Ron wouldn't have cared, Hermione would have been offended, and George sought to teach her. It fit.

"Well, give it here," George demanded as he held out his hand.

The small smile fell from Hesper's face as she offered her bleeding hand. "You don't have to—"

George groaned. "I thought we had agreed yesterday that you wouldn't put up a fuss." His wand waved over Hesper's hand, healing it once again. "Are you going back on your word?"

Hesper flinched and shook her head. "I'm not a liar." The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, and her eyes were glued to the smooth skin that had declared 'I must not tell lies' just moments before. "I'm not," she said firmly, fingers curling around George's hand.

"I know that, Hesper," George whispered. His thumb brushed over the drying blood, smearing it before he Banished it. "I know."

"Right." Hesper cleared her throat. At least some people still believed her. "Thanks again."

"It's no trouble, mate," George said, as he released Hesper's hand and then ruffled her hair. "You take care of yourself, all right? I don't want to see blood on you until tomorrow evening," George said with a humorless smile.

She nodded obediently. "All right." As George walked away, Hesper mourned the loss of the warmth again.

* * *

The third night that Hesper had detention, she tried to sneak down the hallway before George showed up. George was being too good to her; he surely had better things to do than fix up Hesper's hand every night. Besides, others would help her if she couldn't heal it herself. Hadn't Hermione mentioned something about Murtlap Essence?

"And where do you think you're sneaking off to?"

Hesper jumped guiltily and flushed. "I was just . . ." She gestured vaguely down the hallway, in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful—because she really, really _was—_she just couldn't understand why George would want to waste his time constantly healing her blasted hand.

"You were just what?" George asked with a sigh of exasperation. "Fleeing the scene of the crime? Do you like pain? Hiding any masochistic tendencies there, Hesper?"

"No!" Her eyes widened so much behind her glasses that they hurt. Just—no. She didn't like pain at all, and she didn't want anyone to think that she was like _that_. All she wanted was to be safe and normal. _Yeah, well, normal people would let someone else heal their bleeding hands_, she thought snidely.

"That's good," George said with a wink. "I'm not into whips and paddles. Now, bondage on the other hand. . . ."

Groaning, Hesper glared at her companion. "Ha bloody ha." But she deserved that. She kept saying she wanted to be normal, and then she acted about as abnormal as a person could act.

When George held out his hand demandingly, Hesper placed hers on top of it. George's palm was slightly rough, probably from playing Quidditch and inventing whatever it was the twins were currently working on. Once George had fixed her hand, he pointed his wand at Hesper. "There will be no attempts to sneak off tomorrow, understood?"

"Understood," grumbled Hesper, still aggravated that she had been caught in the first place.

"Good."

After George left, Hesper cradled her hand to her chest and the warmth seemed to last just a little bit longer.

* * *

Blood dripped down from Hesper's chin; she had bitten clean through her lip. Umbridge had forced her to write extra lines tonight, and her hand _hurt_. Umbridge had stared at her smooth skin with a saccharine smile and vicious eyes. It wasn't as bad as the time the Basilisk had bitten her, but it was worse than having to re-grow all the bones in her arm.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying didn't solve anything; all it did was give her a stuffy nose and a headache.

Hesper only made it about ten steps from the classroom before she had to stop and lean against the wall. The stone was cool against her forehead, which helped fight away the black spots that were slowly eating away at her vision.

"Bloody hell!" she spat.

"Better."

Jerking, Hesper cried out in pain as her hand slammed into the stone wall. She swayed, almost collapsing to the floor as agony shot up her arm and pierced her skull.

"Merlin, Hesper, I didn't mean to surprise you!" George leapt forward and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady. "What did she—?" He hissed through clenched teeth when his eyes locked on Hesper's hand.

"Extra lines," Hesper said, chuckling weakly so she wouldn't cry. Why wouldn't Umbridge believe her? Why wouldn't anyone believe her? She wasn't an attention seeking liar! Would the wizarding world really prefer to die in ignorance instead of fighting to live?

"Of course. They're idiots," George growled.

Hesper winced. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. She had learned to keep her thoughts to herself; her hand must be even worse than she had thought. "Sor—"

"Don't. Apologize!" George snarled. When Hesper flinched back, head smacking into the wall, George tightened his arm protectively and sighed. "I didn't mean to snap, Hesper. Just—stop apologizing for something you can't control. It's not your fault."

Blinking, Hesper attempted to process the words. _It's not your fault_. She couldn't ever remember hearing them before, not in relation to herself anyway. Everything was always her fault. She had set the snake on Dudley, opened the Chamber of Secrets, etc., ad nauseam. It was never _not_ her fault.

"Need help up to the Tower?" George asked, eyes gentle.

"Huh?" Hesper looked down to see that her hand was fine again, and her lip no longer stung. "No, I'm good," she whispered. She reluctantly pulled away from George.

"All right, then. See you later!" George's hand seemed to linger in her hair that night, but Hesper knew it was only wishful thinking on her part.

Though the warmth in her hand quickly faded, she could still feel George's arm around her waist when she went to bed.

* * *

She didn't know why she had foolishly thought it would hurt less after having three days without a detention, but it didn't. In fact, the Blood Quill was sharper than ever. Hesper felt it gouge deep into her skin, sucking the blood from her veins only to vomit it back onto the parchment.

Her eyes glazed as she wrote the line over and over and over: I must not tell lies.

Every time Umbridge offered her a way out, she bit her tongue and kept writing. She would not renounce the truth. She was a Gryffindor, her parents had been in Gryffindor, and she would see this through to the end. She had courage enough for that, at least.

It felt like hours before Umbridge smiled sweetly and told her she could return to her common room.

She didn't give Umbridge a chance to change her mind; she simply bolted from the room as fast as her legs could carry her. Hesper ran past her normal meeting spot with George, unable to fight the instinctive need to flee from danger. She ran until she was tired, aching, lungs burning for air, and then she shuddered and sat down on the floor in some random hallway.

Ignoring the staring portraits, Hesper leaned against a suit of armor and tried to calm her breathing. The air felt too heavy, like water getting caught in her throat.

Footsteps echoed loudly, rounding the corner, and her gaze snapped up to lock on George. The redhead's chest was heaving, and his face was almost as red as his hair from exertion. He skidded to a stop before Hesper and knelt down.

"Hesper? What happened?"

Warm hands cupped her cheeks, tapping lightly. It pulled Hesper back into her head. She inhaled deeply, held it, and then exhaled all the fear in a rush of breath. "I just . . ." Was afraid. Very, very afraid. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against her knees, despite the fact it caused her glasses to pinch her skin.

George feathered his hands through Hesper's hair as if she were a favored pet. "Hey, it's all right, Hesper. You're safe."

Hesper shifted her weight from leaning against the suit of armor to leaning against George. She felt safe. How could she not? She knew it had only started a week ago, but she felt like George had been taking care of her forever.

"Is it bad tonight?" George asked, voice thick with worry.

Nodding, Hesper very gently moved her hand away from her chest. The wounds were deeper—broad, sweeping chasms in the flesh of her hand. Blood surged to the surface like geysers. And, just as she had always known, looking at it made it hurt even worse.

Hesper whimpered and closed her eyes. "Can you—?"

"_Episkey. Episkey_!" George used that and the other healing spell Hesper still hadn't caught the name of several times before the slanted words vanished. "_Evanesco_!" George rubbed her no-longer-injured hand between both of his, but Hesper still felt phantom pains shooting along her nerves.

Every night it took longer to heal. Surely, soon, George would tire of wasting his magic on her.

_But he hasn't just yet_, Hesper thought as she rested her head on George's shoulder for a moment. _Not yet_.

* * *

The sixth night Hesper had detention, she waited in the hallway outside Umbridge's office for thirty minutes.

George never showed up.

She smiled bitterly and pointed her wand at her right hand, whispering, "_Ferula_." It was awkward, angling it with her wrong hand, but bandages still shot out and wrapped around her hand. Blood soaked through the white material in a matter of minutes. She changed them twice before she got to Gryffindor Tower.

And even though she cast _Episkey_ multiple times, the wounds didn't close all the way.

Hesper huddled on her bed, inside Locked and Silenced bed-curtains and beneath a mound of blankets.

It had only taken eight days for George Weasley to get sick of caring for her. That had to be some kind of record.

She buried her head in her pillow and didn't weep, no matter what the damp pillow might say. After all, there was nothing to cry about. She had always known that no one would want to care for her.

Sniffling, she rubbed her not-wet eyes. That was okay, though. She was good at being alone.

* * *

This, Hesper decided, was worse than being bitten by the Basilisk. And, for whatever reason, Fawkes never showed up to heal her hand. Why was that, exactly? She was being a true Gryffindor, wasn't she? She was being loyal to Dumbledore, wasn't she?

So why? Why? _Why_?

She almost threw the Blood Quill across the room, but she feared whatever punishment Umbridge would think up next would only be twice as worse. So she kept writing, aware of the delight in Umbridge's every movement as blood pooled from the cuts. Maybe she was a Death Eater.

But Hesper didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to believe that Dumbledore had let a Death Eater into the school two years in a row. He wouldn't, would he? But maybe he didn't know. _After all, he certainly hadn't known that Mad-Eye Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr_., Hesper thought resignedly.

Then again, maybe Dumbledore just didn't care. How could he not know Umbridge was making Hesper use a Blood Quill?

She tried not to think as she wrote. Tried not to acknowledge the overwhelming feeling of betrayal, even worse than she had felt last year when almost the whole school turned against her.

It didn't work.

Hesper scrawled the cursed sentence until she was sure it would cut the words clear through to her palm. Hours? Days? Years? How long had she been sitting at this desk now? Perhaps Umbridge was utilizing a time spell she had never heard of to make her start over again and again.

And then it happened—her fingers stopped working. They fell limp, as if the Blood Quill had sliced through the muscles and tendons that kept them in motion.

"That will be all, Miss Potter," Umbridge said with a smile.

Hesper didn't even remember leaving her office. She felt broken, empty. In fact, she didn't remember anything until her feet stopped working. She pulled, but they didn't move. It took her much longer than it should have to realize someone had used a sticking charm on her feet. She just didn't _care_.

"Hesper?" A tongue caressed her name; it was gentler than she had ever thought a name could be. "Hesper?"

She blinked to clear the hazy fog from her eyes, but it only worked so well. George Weasley stood before her, eyes wide with horror and concern. His face was so pale that the freckles looked white, which scared Hesper enough that the fog started to drift away. "What?" Her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, but it still worked.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here last night. I got a detention from Snape. I was going to heal your hand when I got back, but Ron said you were already in bed," George said.

"It doesn't matter," Hesper replied.

"Yes, it does," George insisted. "I'm sorry, Hesper."

"You're forgiven. Doesn't matter." Hesper shrugged and drew her wand. What was the spell that would set her free again?

George growled and stepped closer. "Hesper! I wanted to be here. I still want to be here. It does matter! I said I'm sorry!"

And _that_ was what finally cleared the mess in her head and yanked her back to the present. "You want to be here?"

A warm hand rose to cup her cheek. "Of course I do, Hesper. Now, let me help you. Please."

She nodded dumbly, still trying to comprehend that George hadn't gotten sick of her—yet. The pain in her hand lessened, and then faded altogether. Hesper's eyes locked on the unmarred skin in disbelief, because she had already resigned herself to the fact that it would be scarred for life. George knew more healing spells than she did, and he managed to fix it, whereas Hesper could only bandage it pathetically in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.

"I'm sorry," George whispered in her ear as he enfolded her in a tight hug. "It won't happen again; I'll be here tomorrow night."

The words were so fervent that Hesper almost believed him.

* * *

George was, in fact, waiting for her the next night. And like the night before, Hesper got a hug instead of a hair-ruffling after George healed her hand.

Maybe, just maybe, George wouldn't get sick of her. There was a chance, right?

Hesper hugged her pillow to her chest after getting back to her dorm and remembered how wonderful it had felt to have George wrapped around her.

Her heart clenched in her chest and she smiled.

That night Hesper dreamt of heated skin and tender kisses. Mumbled words, promises kept, and someone who never got bored with her or wanted her to change. It was the best dream she had had since Cedric's death.

* * *

Hesper left her ninth detention with a slight smile on her face, even though her hand hurt like the dickens. She knew what would happen next, because George had promised to be there again—just like last night.

"She didn't make you use it?" George asked, eyebrows arched as he stepped forward.

Wiping the silly smile off her face, Hesper revealed her hand. It wasn't as torn up as it was the day after George hadn't healed it, but it was still a mess. "No, she did."

George looked at her oddly. "Sure you're not developing masochistic tendencies, Hesper?" The tone was light, joking, but his eyes were entirely serious.

"I-I'm sure," Hesper stuttered, cheeks flushing with humiliation. She wanted to explain, but her tongue wouldn't move. She couldn't get her mouth to say the words. And besides, what if they scared George away? What if George didn't like her?

"All right, then. Let's see today's damage," George said. He ruffled Hesper's hair for just a moment before taking her injured hand in a very gentle grip. "Hesper, this is worse than it was yesterday." Hard eyes narrowed at her.

"It is?" Hesper blinked down at her hand. And, oh, yes, it was. The pain suddenly roared through her, and she moaned, teeth sinking into her lower lip.

"You really didn't notice?" George asked incredulously, gaze focused on Hesper's lower lip for whatever reason.

"N-no," she choked out. She wished that Death Eaters would attack the school, or Malfoy would curse them, or anything to distract George from her bizarre behavior. "Maybe I'm becoming immune," she joked.

George rolled his eyes. "I doubt that, Hesper." He drew his wand and set to work. "But if you are, we should figure out how to replicate that, yeah? It would be useful at some point."

Hesper made a noncommittal noise and soaked up as much of George's warmth and presence as she could. Her stomach was a mass of knots, and all she wanted was to sink into George's arms. George wouldn't do this for just anyone, right?

Perhaps, just perhaps, Hesper was special.

Once her hand was healed, Hesper locked her eyes with George's. "Hey, I was think—"

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

Hesper spun around to see Angelina Johnson marching down the hallway, her lips spread in a beatific smile. She walked right up to George and wrapped herself around him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Ready now?"

George stared at her for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, just a minute." He turned to Hesper and asked, "What were you saying?"

The grin Hesper pasted on her face was so fake that it hurt. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Sorry for"—she flapped her hand towards the Defense classroom uselessly—"taking up so much of your time. And thanks, for everything."

"Hesper?"

She walked away slowly, each step methodical and exactly the same distance apart. George called her name twice more, but she ignored it. Of course George Weasley wasn't going to be interested in her. Of course he had a blasted girlfriend.

Groaning, Hesper did her best to shove all the burgeoning feelings deep inside herself. She couldn't do this anymore—couldn't let George heal her and pretend it meant something.

"I _won't_ give her a reason to give me another detention—not ever."

* * *

Hesper managed to avoid George for so long that George seemed to give up on finding out what she had wanted to say—not that Hesper planned on ever revealing that now. She obviously didn't have a chance. Thing was, no one noticed that she was avoiding George. And why should they? It's not like she and George had ever been close before those few days together in September.

She had thought that she would never have a logical reason to touch George again, and then the first Quidditch match of the year came. Winning the match wasn't surprising—because they just didn't lose to Slytherin—and neither was Malfoy's anger at losing the game.

However, what happened next on November 2 was very new to Hesper.

"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay—"

When George moved forward, Hesper latched onto his shoulders, holding him back from Malfoy. A thrill raced through her at the contact, but she batted it away. She was just fighting off a grin, because George had relaxed the moment Hesper touched him, when Malfoy opened his fat mouth again.

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what _your _mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"

Hesper knew what it would look like from the outside—that Hesper had released her hold on George to fight Malfoy. Only she hadn't. George had torn himself viciously from Hesper's hold and sprinted forward. Hesper didn't even consider another option; she sprinted forward as well and slammed her fist into Malfoy's stomach, Snitch's wings tickling her hand the whole time.

The smarmy git liked hurting others, and Hesper wanted to see how he would like being hurt for a change.

Her head went a little insane, as if she were floating outside her body. All she remembered was rage and a fierce need to pummel Malfoy into the ground. When the spell knocked her away from Malfoy, her head cleared. She stared down at the sniveling blond with pleasure. Malfoy's nose was busted and he clutched his stomach and groaned.

_Good_, Hesper thought. _He deserved it!_

She didn't object as she went to McGonagall's office, too worried about the swollen lip on George's face. Hesper didn't think she was injured at all, and she couldn't bear the thought of George getting hurt on her account. Hesper drew her wand and said, "_Episkey_." That would be at least a small repayment for all that George had done for her at the beginning of the year.

As McGonagall stormed into her office, Hesper could tell that she wasn't going to listen. Her lips were pinched so tightly that lines bracketed them on each side and her nostrils flared with every breath she took.

Hesper tried to defend them, but, as suspected, McGonagall didn't seem to care all that much. However, she couldn't keep the smile off her face when George snapped a reply.

"He insulted my parents," snarled George. "And Hesper's mother."

That last part was the bit that meant the most to Hesper. Sure, Malfoy had insulted her mum before, but no one had ever defended her—except Hesper. To know that George had finally lost his control because someone had maligned her mum sent the knots in her stomach twisting harder than ever.

Today's events had destroyed what little effort she had made in smoothing them out. Blast it.

And even though Umbridge gave them a life-long ban from Quidditch, she almost couldn't help but think it was worth it. Surely her dad would be proud of her? Yes, even if the rest of Gryffindor hated them and _Angelina_ whined, she knew they had done the right thing.

* * *

It started as a nightmare, or she thought it was, but then she found out that it was all too real. The snake—she, Hesper—had bitten Mr. Weasley; her best friend's dad was dying.

It took what felt like forever to convince McGonagall to let her see Dumbledore, before she finally caved. Luckily Dumbledore was more apt to believe in her and proved that right away. Messages, portraits, the Weasleys, and then a Portkey.

Hesper felt guilt welling inside, because it was her fault that Mr. Weasley was hurt. Hesper was the one who had almost killed him. That guilt only boiled brighter when Sirius got in a shouting match with Fred and George.

She tried to push their words aside, but it didn't help. Intellectually, she understood that they were worried about their dad and that they just wanted to see him. But the moment the words "What does that matter?" spewed from George's lips, Hesper succumbed to it entirely.

Her emotions were already all over the place, and the knots in her stomach might have well been daggers for how much they hurt. Of course George cared more about his dad than keeping the Ministry from finding out about Hesper's visions. It was logical, very much so.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Gulping, she blindly followed all verbal instructions, no matter where they came from. Sit down? OK. Drink a Butterbeer? OK.

Images of fangs sinking into skin flashed before her eyes. She obviously didn't have fangs and she wasn't a snake. But she had still been there when it happened—it was her fault. Somehow, in some way, she was responsible for the whole thing.

The night seemed to drag on forever. And when Mrs. Weasley finally showed up to give them the news that Mr. Weasley was still alive, she felt the tension drain from all her companions. They huddled together, hugging and sobbing with relief, and she stood on the outside like always.

Irrationally, she wished that George would apologize to her, even though George had done nothing wrong. Hesper sighed and helped Sirius cook breakfast. Being jealous of love—that was a new low for her.

She didn't want to think these horrible thoughts or feel like this. It was just a little crush. It would go away soon enough. It had to, right?

* * *

Hesper only survived through her third Occlumency lesson with Snape before she slid down the wall afterwards and curled in a ball. This wasn't right—it was even worse than the detentions with Umbridge and the Blood Quill.

Not only that, but it took everything she had to hide her crush on George—everything. Snape managed to pull out anything else he wanted, no matter how humiliating, and parade it before Hesper's eyes. The mocking was endless.

Every time she left the room, she foolishly believed that George was going to be standing on the other side, lurking in the shadows somewhere and willing to help.

But George hadn't shown up after the last two lessons, or tonight. Hesper scrubbed her sleeves over her aching eyes and willed the headache away; it didn't work. As she pushed himself to her feet and left the dungeons, she couldn't help hoping that maybe—just maybe—George would come next time.

He didn't. He never did.

The night Hesper realized George would never come, she invaded Snape's Pensieve. She never had to attend another blasted lesson or nurse another futile hope after that.

* * *

When Fred sat down across from Hesper and promised her that he and George would cause a large enough distraction so that Hesper could talk to Sirius, she didn't think twice before accepting. The twins were brilliant at causing distractions. It would likely involve Dung Bombs, or more of those fancy fireworks they had used during O.W.L.s, or something equally unique and their own.

She reckoned they would have detention for the rest of the school year, but they were willing to do it for her. And this really _was_ important.

Hesper kept telling herself how important it was as she watched the twins' brooms zoom through the air toward them the next evening. Because, surely, this couldn't be what it looked like. Fred and George wouldn't really leave her—Hogwarts, would they?

Yeah, this year was pretty horrid with Umbridge and all, but it was still Hogwarts. Who would ever really want to leave Hogwarts?

Leaning over, she stared down the staircase to see if her eyes were deceiving her. They weren't. This was real. . . .

"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.

The words stabbed Hesper right in the heart as the twins kicked off the ground and flew away. She knew they weren't aimed at her, but she couldn't help wondering: What if they were? What if George had caught her sneaking looks at him from time to time? What if that gave George the willies?

But the question that hurt the most was one she didn't have the courage to voice. What if their offer to help was just a way to get George as far from her as possible?

No, it couldn't be that. Could it?

* * *

Summer at the Weasleys' wasn't as good as it should have been. But then, it was infinitely better than spending an entire summer with the Dursleys. She didn't think she would have been able to handle that. Not after Sirius . . .

Hesper thunked her head against the window in her empty dorm room, eyes staring out unseeingly.

Fred and George didn't live at the Burrow anymore; they lived over their shop. The few times she had seen the twins over the summer had been—awkward, to say the least. Oh, it didn't seem like the twins thought so, but it had felt that way to her. There had been fewer jokes than normal, less fun. The Burrow had almost felt lifeless, which was completely ridiculous.

Hesper got off the windowsill and rooted around in her trunk for a scrap of parchment and a quill. She flopped back on her bed and began writing.

_Dear George,_

_I miss you, you know. Hogwarts isn't the same without you and Fred around. Everything feels wrong without Filch grumbling ab_—

"Hesper!"

The door to the dorm room slammed open and admitted Ron (how had he gotten up the stairs?). "You have to save me from Hermione! She's gone completely barmy! She made N.E.W.T. study schedules, Hesper!"

Hesper groaned and dropped her head. Oh great. This was going to be fun. "Just a minute, Ron."

Ron grinned widely at her. "You're the best, mate!"

After Ron had left the room, Hesper hesitated for a moment and then pointed her wand at the letter. "_Incendio_." It crumpled to ashes. "It's not like he'll want to hear from me anyway."

* * *

Many letters followed that one. Ever since the day George healed her hand (the day after he'd had detention and missed a healing), Hesper had felt like she should talk to George about her problems—even when the redhead obviously hadn't meant anything by his actions.

_Dear George,_

_I'm back on the Quidditch team and I'm Captain! I've been reinstated, despite what Umbridge said last year. Only it's not the same without you. I wish . . ._

_Dear George,_

_I won a vial of Felix Felicis. I'm not sure what I'm going to use if for, because it's not like it could give me what I really want—you._

_Dear George,_

_Malfoy's up to something; I just know it! I don't care what anyone else says. He keeps disappearing off the map. It makes my skin crawl. I think we should pummel him again._

_Dear George,_

_Hermione's not talking to me at the moment. She keeps calling me a cheater just because I'm doing better than she is at Potions. That's not fair! How can she just turn her back on me? It's like a flopped version of fourth year, only that hurt worse. I guess that makes "ickle Ronniekins" my true best friend, huh?_

Maybe it wasn't quite love. Maybe it was an obsession. Hesper didn't know, but she couldn't stop writing the letters. George was the first person who had ever taken care of her of his own free will. It wasn't his job or his duty, like with Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore.

That had to count for something; it just had to.

_Dear George,_

_Dumbledore keeps showing me memories of when Voldemort was a kid. His life wasn't so different from my own—_

_Dear George,_

_Thanks for throwing those mashed parsnips at Percy for bringing the bloody Minister to Christmas dinner. He really is a bastard and—_

_Dear George,_

_Katie Bell's been sent to St. Mungo's because she touched a cursed necklace—someone sent it to her. I'm sure it was Malfoy. Only, as wrong as it is, I can't help but wish he had sent it to Angelina instead._

_Dear George,_

_Cormac McLaggen gave me cauldron cakes spiked with a love potion. I wish they would've been from you. But then, you wouldn't have needed the potion. I already love you._

_Dear George,_

_I almost killed Malfoy today, and it wasn't even on purpose. I'm glad I didn't, even though I hate the prat. I can't kill anyone other than Voldemort. I don't want to turn out like he did._

_No one ever loved him._

_As I said, we have a lot in common: Voldemort and I._

_Dear George,_

_I'm dating your brother. I don't love him. But if I close my eyes tight enough, I can imagine he's you._

_Dear George,_

_Dumbledore is dead. I have to stop Voldemort. I don't know if I can. I feel so weak_.

Hesper tightened her grip and the quill snapped in half, sending ink all over the bit of parchment. It looked like spilt blood. Her chest and eyes burned, each breath was harder to draw than the last. The fate of the wizarding world rested on her shoulders.

George was part of the wizarding world; Hesper had to succeed.

* * *

Unable to tear her eyes away from the empty divot in George's head, where his ear used to be, Hesper swallowed roughly. If she had known that this would happen, she never would have let the Order use that stupid plan.

Fat lot of good it did anyway; Fletcher had ratted on them just like Wormtail.

And Fred looked just as devastated as Hesper felt. She winced at the desolation in Fred's eyes—this was someone who loved George at least as much as Hesper did, maybe more.

Guilt curdled in Hesper's stomach, rotting what little happiness she possessed away. This was just the beginning. She knew things would get so much worse, and this would keep her motivated: the devastation in Fred's eyes.

Hesper never wanted to look in a mirror and see that expression on her face.

As she huddled in the Burrow that weekend, making plans to leave after Bill's wedding, Hesper felt resolve settle itself in the pit of her stomach. It didn't matter if she felt weak, or tired, or didn't think she could do this. She didn't have a choice—not really. She was going to destroy each piece of Voldemort's soul. Every single Horcrux. No matter what it cost, she would prove that she wasn't that monster, regardless of how similar their pasts might be.

When the Death Eaters Apparated into the wedding, she stole one last, longing look at George Weasley. Their eyes collided for just a moment. Dumbledore had said that love would defeat Voldemort.

Hopefully unrequited love would be good enough.

* * *

Ron's disappearing act proved what she had once written in a letter to George that was nothing more than ashes. She couldn't stand not having her best mate around, even when they were bickering left and right because of the Horcrux. Even though he was dating Hermione now.

Luckily—and they deserved some good luck after the bad run they'd had—Ron returned to them and brought some useful information along with him.

"What?" Hesper blinked at the wireless, wondering what Ron was prattling on about. _Potterwatch_, really? But she stopped arguing the moment 'Rodent' was introduced.

"Fred!" they all announced together, wide grins on their faces.

Only, Hesper couldn't quash the small hope that rose to the surface. "Is it George?" she asked. But Ron shot that down quickly. Hesper sighed, but she supposed Ron would know better than her. She could finally tell them apart physically, because of the curse that had stolen George's ear, but their voices were so similar it was uncanny.

She always felt doubly guilty when she realized she had mixed them up. It felt disloyal to George—not that George would ever know or care.

Still, 'Rodent' was too reminiscent of 'Wormtail', and Hesper didn't like it one bit. Then, in typical Weasley fashion, Fred changed his name to 'Rapier'. Hesper liked that a lot better; it fit somehow. She zoned out, listening to Fred's voice. But not for long. _His wit is as sharp as a rapier_, Hesper thought ironically, as she burst into laughter for the first time in ages.

The tension in her muscles faded, she relaxed, and then she made a foolish mistake. She said Voldemort's name.

And she wasn't the only one who paid for it, though only Dobby paid with his life.

* * *

Life at Shell Cottage wasn't easy. Nothing about the past nine months had been simple, but now things were worse.

Hesper had thought it was hard being around Ron and keeping her thoughts away from George, but now it was twice as bad as before. Bill laughed like the twins. Ron's hands sometimes moved just like twins' did when he was excited. And occasionally, when Bill looked at Fleur, his eyes sparkled just as the twins' did when they were about to pull the _best prank ever_.

Each individual occurrence felt like a Cutting Curse to her heart.

She dreamt that George Apparated to the cottage and snuck into her bed. She dreamt of love, of promises of forever. Hesper dreamt of spending her entire life bandaging every wound George ever received, as George had bandaged hers. She dreamt that George backed away from Angelina all those years ago and enfolded Hesper in strong arms. She dreamt of freckled skin, naked flesh, and marks of possession.

And every morning, Hesper woke up alone.

* * *

Hesper didn't see George again, in the flesh, until the whole DA seemed to converge on Hogwarts, each bound and determined to fight against the Death Eaters. Even as her heart leapt into her throat with glee, Hesper had never been less pleased to see him. She wanted George as far away from the final battle as possible. And this would be the final battle, one way or the other. But, like always, Hesper didn't get her way.

Bitterness avalanched through her, but she shoved it down. She had no right to rail against George. Just because she had feelings for George Weasley, just because she had fallen stupidly, hopelessly in love with gentle words, strong, safe arms, and a caring heart, didn't mean George had to view her as anything other than a younger sister, friend, or annoying brat.

"So what's the plan, Hesper?" George asked.

Eyes skimming George's face in a desperate, last-minute attempt to memorize every freckle, Hesper said, "There isn't one." _Except to make sure that you survive_, she finished silently.

Even if Hesper had to die in the process.

* * *

Staring at Fred's coffin, Hesper almost wished someone would Cruciate her. Fred was _dead_, and all she could think was that she was grateful George had been spared. She was worse than Malfoy! Hesper wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. It didn't make her feel any better.

"Hey, Hesper." Her eyes snapped open and there was George. The skin under his eyes was almost solid black, and his eyes were bloodshot. His breath smelled a bit like Firewhisky, but his robes and hair were immaculate. Even in grief, he was handsome. "Thanks for coming; he would've wanted you to be here," George said, rubbing the space where his missing ear used to reside.

It was the first funeral Hesper had attended after Voldemort's defeat. She didn't want her presence to be considered more important than the people who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. And considering all the hype surrounding her defeat of Voldemort, she wouldn't chance it.

"You don't need to thank me," Hesper said. _You wouldn't thank me if you knew I'm happy he's dead instead of you_, she thought. Hesper winced and hunched further into herself.

George wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning most of his weight on her and looking even worse than Hesper felt. "Want to get out of here?" he asked when Molly's cries rose to a shrill pitch. "I don't think I can . . ."

"Yeah, all right." Hesper tightened her grip on George and then waited for the squeezing sensation that accompanied Apparition. They reappeared inside the flat over Fred and—over George's shop in Diagon Alley.

"Firewhisky?" George asked as he stepped away and snagged a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. He didn't wait for Hesper to agree before filling two glasses to the brim.

Hesper took one and then knocked it against George's, spilling some on the floorboards. "To Fred!"

"To Fred!"

They both chugged the liquor, and then their glasses fell to the floor as George mashed his lips against Hesper's. If Hesper hadn't been in love with George for almost three years, she might have been able to resist. But she had loved George, in vain, for what felt like ages, and even if this might technically be taking advantage, she wasn't going to stop. With this one act, they would be bound for life; she couldn't chance losing him.

"That was—"

"Brilliant," George finished. He tucked Hesper closer to his side, and then tangled their hands together.

Smiling, Hesper stared at their entwined hands with awed wonder. _I'm married to George Weasley!_ "You know what this reminds me of?" she asked.

George grunted. "What?"

Hesper grinned up at him bashfully. Finally, everything in her life was going right for a change. Apparently, defeating Voldemort meant she deserved happiness. She had just had to earn it. But that was all right, because George was worth the effort and all she needed. Hesper pressed a kiss to George's chest, right over his heart, and curled her fingers more tightly around his. "All those nights you healed my hand."

And then, with just the barest hint of a whisper, George said, "Hesper, I've never healed your hand."


End file.
